It's the Little Things
by ali the geek
Summary: Oneshot, Ginny’s POV, the missing moments from HBP. Ginny starts to notice the little things that Harry has been doing around her lately. The more she thinks about it, she can only come to one conclusion. Rated for mild language


_Disclaimer: I do not own the lovely Ginny Weasley, nor am I making any profit from this. No copyright infringement of J.K. Rowling's property is intended._

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I must be losing my mind.

There we were, Dean and I, having just come from a particularly successful practice before the match against Slytherin, in a deserted hallway on the way back to the common room. What possessed us to use that particular location for a passionate snog, I'll never know. Unfortunately, just as I had worked up the nerve to give Dean's bum a cheeky squeeze (er… no pun intended of course), our encounter was rudely interrupted by none other than my nosy git of a brother and his best mate. Getting caught in such a compromising position by Harry and my resulting mortification only fueled the rage that I promptly directed at Ron. Why did Harry have to be there? Had it been anyone else, I would have put Ron in his place with a few well-aimed jibes and went on my way. As it was, I was outraged at my own embarrassment and let my emotions get the better of me. Poor Ron, I don't think he knew what hit him when I was done.

But that's not why I think I'm losing my mind. I was too focused on ripping Ron a new arsehole at the time, but in retrospect there seemed something unusual about Harry's reaction. Granted, the boy has always been repressed when it comes to talking about matters of the heart, so it really isn't surprising that he was mortified to the point of speechlessness upon seeing our ardent display. One thing Harry is not good at, however, is hiding his emotions. It's all right there in the eyes that burn, in the brow that furrows a certain way, and the jaw that visibly clenches. And based on all those indicators, Harry got really angry. A furious Harry is quite frightening, so I can't blame Dean for wanting to get the hell out of there as soon as he realized Harry was not going to sympathize. Of course, Harry was almost immediately distracted from his anger by having to play referee to Ron and me. But I'm sure I didn't imagine it… did I?

Normally, I wouldn't think twice about Harry's unexpected reaction. I don't think I could ever fully understand that boy, even if I had an entire lifetime to dissect his mannerisms. But lately I've noticed some very un-Harry-like behavior, as far back as this past summer at the Burrow. It started with him laughing at my stupid Phlegm jokes. It seems trivial, but as he's never laughed at my jokes before, I noticed. I had always just assumed that he didn't find me funny, but evidently that's no longer the case. Then, he actually sought _me_ out to find a compartment to share on the train back to school. As inconsequential as that seems, he's never made a concerted effort to be in my company. Naturally, I always considered myself an extra, a neutral addition. Well, he proved that wrong when he invited me to go to Hogsmeade with him, Ron and Hermione.

Now, I'm a sensible girl. I'm not typically prone to flights of fancy, my first few years at Hogwarts notwithstanding. I've learned to take things at face value, especially when it comes to Harry. I know that it won't do me any good to read something into this un-Harry-like behavior that isn't really there. So even after all of that, I simply acknowledged that Harry apparently enjoyed my company, for whatever reason, and left it at that.

However, after what just happened in that deserted hallway, after seeing the unmistakable anger well up inside him, I'm not so sure I would be imagining things. I'm pretty good at deciphering a person's intentions from his actions. Harry's no easy subject, though; in fact, I'd be surprised if Bill the professional curse breaker could crack his 'code.' And so, we've come, after much deliberation, to the reason I think I'm losing my mind. I think Harry might fancy me. I have to be crazy for even considering it; I promised myself years ago that I would never entertain _that_ line of thinking again, damn it!

Well, I'm certainly not going to drive myself even more batty by sitting here contemplating a world of 'what ifs,' especially when this Herbology essay isn't going to write itself. Still, I can't help but be just a bit miffed at his timing if Harry has indeed decided to fancy me. Why did he have to wait until I was with Dean? I suppose there's no sense in worrying about it either way. After all, it's not as if went and hugged me, or anything else that obvious.

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Okay, I'm definitely losing my mind. Just when I had myself utterly convinced that I was imagining Harry's supposed interest in me, he hugged me. What is he on about? It was right after the Slytherin match about a month ago. As soon as I saw Harry catch the snitch, I shot off towards the commentator's booth to give that pompous arse a piece of my mind. Well, I ended up giving Smith more like a few pieces of wood from the stands instead, but I think he still understood my meaning. I was so pleased with myself that I didn't get a chance to register that Harry was squeezing me tightly before he quickly let go, evidently embarrassed. It's a testament to the pervasiveness of the post-win euphoria that Ron didn't notice our quick embrace. For once, the great oaf kept his tactless pie-hole shut.

I've come to accept that Harry is the king of ambiguity. Yes, he hugged me, but can I really assume that it meant anything other than 'good job putting rat-boy Smith in his place'? And if that wasn't enough, during the few weeks following the game, I caught him staring a few times. At least, I think he was; perhaps he was just staring off into space, trying to forget that his two best mates are at each other's throats yet again, and I happened to be in the way. I can't tell. Like I said, he is the king of ambiguity… or at least a knight or a duke or something. Part of me wishes he would just screw up and accidentally do something so I would know either way. The other part just isn't sure that I really want to know. Harry Potter can just keep his little whims to himself, thank you.

Luna told me a few days before Slughorn's Christmas party that Harry had invited her. I'm happy for Luna, really I am. I was also happy that Harry decided to go, Hermione too of course, so I got to see them both there. I know that Harry doesn't fancy Luna; she even told me that he wanted to go just as friends. Harry surprises me more and more these days. Ron was right; he really could have taken just about any girl he wanted as his date. He's not afraid or embarrassed to be friends with Luna, or to invite her to a gathering as his guest. Like me, he sees that despite the fact that she really does believe all of those ridiculous things in her father's rag, she's kind, caring, and has a knack for saying things truthfully when others would pull punches.

So, if there wasn't anyone available that he wanted to invite to the party as a date, I suppose that means it's still possible that he fancies me. Once again, I must extract myself from the murky realm of possibilities. If I don't stop this dangerous train of thought, I might have a total relapse. I've gotten over him! Well, I certainly gave up on him ever fancying me back, that's for damn sure. And I've definitely made some serious progress towards getting over him completely. I have Dean, and I know for sure he fancies me so bugger off, Potter! Speaking of the boyfriend, I had better go say goodbye and Happy Christmas before we both leave for the holidays.

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I think I've really lost it this time. What little sanity I had left has now taken an express owl to parts unknown. Why does he have to be so wonderful, so sweet, and so good? Damn him! If he was just an absolute jerk (though he came awfully close last year) things would be so much simpler. Then I wouldn't feel sick every time I compare Dean against him. Try as I might, I can't be mad at him because I know it's my own fault. I've got not business comparing them; Harry is just a friend. Really.

I suppose it began when he was staying with us for Christmas. I found myself using just about any excuse to touch him in some innocent way. I even removed a maggot from his hair, for crying out loud! Though, I can say that I also did it to gross-out Phlegm, and it worked. I thought for sure he would realize what I was doing. Every time I patted his arm, touched his hand, smacked his head, or punched his leg I got to watch his reaction. And he did react every single time. What did I care if my touch gave him goosebumps, or made him take a sharp breath or get all fidgety? I'm ashamed to say it must've just been some sort of sick fascination I had.

When Percy and Scrimgeour came to ruin our Christmas dinner, it made me realize just how much a part of our family Harry has become. The two great big idiots left and Mum turned to each of us, including Harry, for comfort. I admit to being a bit surprised when he let her hug him and fuss over him without it being too awkward. He even made her laugh and let go of her worries a bit, a task that's usually left to one of the twins. At this point, I think I began to realize that no matter what, Harry would always have a place in each of our hearts.

I can't explain it, but when we came back from Christmas break I felt more than a little annoyed. I don't know what I was really annoyed at, but I do know that I took it out on Dean. It seemed like everything he did just grated on my nerves. I thought maybe some space would be in order, so for a few months I told him I needed to concentrate on my O.W.L. studies. We saw each other at most twice a week and our physical relationship slowed down quite a bit as well. For some reason, I just wasn't all that interested in snogging Dean anymore. He wasn't very happy about this, but agreed that just cuddling sometimes would be okay. That certainly didn't stop him from trying to engage me otherwise about every other week.

Then Ron was poisoned, and unfortunately for Dean, I was too preoccupied with worry to pay him any attention for a while. Once again, Harry Potter was the savior of the Weasleys. As much as we fight, I do love Ron and I was ill at the thought of him almost dying. I remembered a similar feeling from when Dad was in St. Mungo's last year, and not for the first time I felt like I knew a little bit of what they all must have gone through when I was taken into the Chamber. Intriguing ideas of how to show my appreciation to Harry for saving my brother came unbidden to my traitorous mind. I was sure Dean would not have approved, not that I was planning on sharing those particular thoughts with him.

As bad as I felt about Ron's brush with death, I almost think I felt worse when during today's match Harry took a bludger to the skull courtesy of our prat reserve keeper. Of course, I didn't have to witness Ron almost dying; I only found out how serious it had been after he was on the road to recovery. But I heard the crack and saw Harry plummet to the pitch below. I don't even recall what happened after he was taken out of the stadium, until Luna announced that the Hufflepuff Seeker had caught the snitch and the game was over. After I called McLaggen every foul name I could think of, insulted his forefathers, made disparaging implications about his mother, instructed him as to where he could painfully insert large objects, and explained to him my opinion of his more sensitive bits and the future peril that awaited them, I started to head to the hospital wing to check on Harry. I got sidetracked. Most of Gryffindor had heard my little tirade, including Dean, and were laughing. Unfortunately, Dean then made a tactless comment about how humorous it was to see McLaggen unwittingly send that bludger right into Harry. I angrily informed him that I failed to see the humor in losing when we could have easily beat Hufflepuff if Harry had been able to finish the match. Then I called him a few of the names I had just used to describe McLaggen. I'm sure he thinks I overreacted, but I honestly don't care.

So here I am, staring at an unconscious Harry and occasionally chatting with Ron in the next bed. My mind is a jumble of thoughts right now. I surprised myself today with the strong reaction I had to Harry getting injured. Why _am_ I so upset? I must be mad. Quidditch injuries happen all the time; I've certainly had my fair share. It just feels wrong to see Harry lying there hurting. Why does he have to be so good, so brave, so….. _Harry_? Why don't I see those same things in Dean? I must just not be looking hard enough. Dean is a great guy most of the time, when he's not cracking jokes about people getting cracked in the head by bludgers.

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I've either gone completely barmy, or I'm in the middle of one insanely wonderful dream.

I certainly wouldn't be here if I hadn't finally ended things with Dean. It was a long time coming, but pushing me through the portrait hole was the straw that broke the camel's back. I'm not sure why, but I felt so relieved when it was over that I became even more animated than I normally am. It was as if someone had cut the strings that were holding me down, and suddenly I was zooming around the sky in every direction. I decided to make it my mission to make Harry laugh at least once a day. Seeing a genuine smile directed my way was more than worth making a fool out of myself. He began waiting for me after practice so that we could walk back up to school together, but I suspect it wasn't even a conscious decision on his part. It did annoy Dean, however, who kept trying to get me alone presumably to try and patch things up between us.

When Harry told the team earlier this week that he had detention and would miss the final match of the season, we were all shocked. My initial reaction was to be furious with him, but my anger soon melted. Yes, it was pretty stupid of him to use a dangerous unknown spell on Malfoy. But I know that Harry realized he had made a huge mistake and felt horrible about it. Hell, I bet he even felt guilty for injuring Malfoy so badly, which is more than I could say. I was content to let his own disappointment at missing the final match be punishment enough. It had nothing to do with being unable to bear that pitiful dejected look on his face, I swear. Hermione, however, had other ideas and proceeded to berate him for continuing to read the Prince's notes. I couldn't stop myself from telling her to give it a rest. Honestly, sometimes she can be a right pain in the arse but Harry's too nice to say anything. Well, I'm not.

After Harry had set off for his detention today, I vowed that we would win for him… and also to spite Snape, the greasy git. The point spread we needed to win the cup was impossible; we all knew it would be nothing short of a miracle if we pulled it off. I, at least, was willing to die trying. I had to distract Cho at least three times during the match, lest she force us to fight for the snitch before we had the point spread we needed. Not that it was terribly difficult to distract her; that girl has the attention span of a gnat. Then after two tense hours, our chasers finally managed the spread and I began to search for the snitch in earnest. It didn't take long before I spotted it, lo' and behold, just behind Cho's right shoulder. As nonchalantly as possible, I flew in her general direction and plucked the snitch once again from right under her nose.

The team was carried by the momentum of all of Gryffindor back to the tower to begin the obligatory celebration. I felt so proud that we had managed to come back against impossible odds to win the cup. The only thing that would have made it better was if Harry had been able to share in our victory. In a way, though, as captain he did share in our victory even though he hadn't been able to play. When the common room spontaneously erupted in cheers, I knew that Harry had just come in through the portrait hole. How did I know as he looked around that he was looking for me? What in the world possessed me to run into his arms? At this point I don't care, because as soon as I did that Harry kissed me. In fact, he's still kissing me. That's how I know it wasn't just a 'nice job, Ginny' kiss… that wouldn't last nearly this long. Nor would that involve Harry's tongue, but this most certainly does. Yes, this is definitely a 'Ginny, I've fancied you all year and this is brilliant' sort of kiss. Surprisingly, I don't mind at all.

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_A/N: After such a positive response to my first story, I decided to keep writing. This is essentially the interaction between Harry and Ginny throughout HBP, up to and including "the kiss." I tried to be as true to Ginny in canon as possible and she is a funny girl, so I hope you got maybe a chuckle or two out of this story. Being the second story I've ever written, obviously this is my first attempt at humor. Also, it's in first person which is unusual. I hope it worked, and that you've enjoyed it! I know there are a lot of "missing moments" fics out there, so any resemblance to someone else's work is purely unintentional. I apologize in advance if this is too similar to another story._


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